Legends of the West
by General Texas
Summary: Things go wrong all the time where I'm from. It went seriously wrong when this robber called the 'Goodie Bandit' got on our hit list. I've been listening to victims, and the next likely victim was the Puckett house. Little did I know what sort of an adventure I would have with Grandad...[Rated T for slight language, rather extreme violence, and a drug reference.]
1. Crimes and Secrets

**My family recently got Hoodwinked Too, and my brain did its obvious course of action: it took something that I saw and modified it. I don't know why on earth I would write something like what I saw in my puny brain, but it needs to get out somehow. If someone _does_ enjoy this by some weird miracle, then please let me know. I would like to know that I'm not crazy or insane for trying _not_ to go insane.**

 **Before I continue, I would like to point out that my imagination is infinitely indecisive; thus being said, there might be a few confusing plot twists or character personality shifts. However, most of this _is_ , in fact, planned out in my tiny skull. I will try to make this story interesting for all types of readers (minus the romance ones), so expect some serious comedy, extreme violence, and... something else. My brain just lost itself (again).**

 **AGAIN, before I continue, I would like to make a few points: I do not own the Hoodwinked! franchise. Any and all characters, places, events, and/or fictitious ideas belong to... whoever else owns them. I only own any original characters in the beginning of the story and those few OC's whom were not suggested by viewers via Private Messaging or Review. If it seems like I'm copying off of someone else's story or stories, then I would like to point out that I am not; I'm too lazy to try and read any or all of them, so if it seems like I am then I apologize but I won't change the story for that reason alone.**

* * *

 **Legends of the West**

 **a Hoodwinked! fiction**

 **Chapter 1: Crimes and Secrets  
**

* * *

Well, this is a bit of a pickle. Wolf grabbed a fire poker from the Puckett's fireplace and pointed it at the girl with the red hood. Before Wolf or Red could make a move, a boy wearing a brown hood and black button-up slammed through the wall head-first... and managed to get himself stuck in the wall. Both the wolf and the red-hooded girl looked at him in surprise. He shook broken bits of drywall out of his short black hair.

"Ow," he muttered as he combed more flakes of drywall and paint out of his hair with his fingers. "That hurt." Only then did he notice the two staring at him.

A slight screaming noise came from above, causing the dark-haired boy to look up.

"Here comes Grandad," he quietly noted. The screaming noise grew louder, ending with William Blaiz tumbling through the chimney and nearly bowling over the wolf just as Granny Puckett burst out of the closet, bound in a parachute by some weird miracle. Only seconds later did a woodsman break through the window, going crazy over something and screaming like a psychiatric hospital escapee. Things would've gone downhill from there, but someone _just_ so happened to call the police on all of them.

"Don't touch the mustache," Blaiz growled at the police as an officer put handcuffs on him. "I spent five years growing that thing out and all of three seconds combing it this morning, and I would like to _not_ have it ruined."

"Thanks for getting me out, officer," the younger Blaiz breathed his compliments. "But I still feel like a walking table. Any way you could fix that for me—?" He yelped when the officer tore off the drywall ring off of his waist with ease, proceeding to handcuff the boy seconds after. Somehow they found a black cowboy hat and figured it was his, and slapped it on his head. "Thank you."

* * *

(1st person, the younger boy)

It was dark outside when the chief officer came in. The officers were talking about something, but I paid no attention to them; I just figured that—once the officers figured out that I and Grandad are on their side—they'd let us go.

Just then, a frog in a sweet-looking suit walked in. Not saying that suit-wearing frogs the size of Grandad are evil, but Grandad and I normally dealt with snakes and crooks, not lawyers. Again, I wasn't paying any attention what-so-ever to Froggie, Smokey, or any of the cops, so I was rather surprised when Grandad elbowed me in the ribs and pointed at the frog-lawyer.

"Jett Blaiz," the frog muttered, as if remembering my name. "You and your Grandad are a long way from the West, aren't you? Shouldn't you two be sitting around a campfire telling old tales?"

"Well," I retorted. "Grandad heard about this 'goodie bandit' in the forest area, so we came over. If no one finds us guilty in this makeshift courtroom, then this would be a lovely campfire story to tell Gramma back home."

"Why did your Grandad invite you on his trek, then?"

"Why do you care in the first place?"

"I am an investigator. It is my job."

"My point exactly."

"I see," the frog said thoughtfully. "Well, I think it would be appropriate to hear all sides of the story, so why don't you come in after Red." I just nodded, bringing one hand up to get more of that danged drywall out of my hair and eyebrows; I lifted both hands once I remembered that I was in handcuffs.

(30 minutes later)

"Young-un," Grandad nudged me awake. "Red's done; you're up." I stood up, crossing over to the table which the frog was apparently sitting at.

"Ah, there you are," the investigator said as he noticed my entry. "I was wondering if you would ever wake up."

"I've rode lazier horses," I told him. "Never got your name, by the way—."

"Flippers," he cut me off as he introduced himself. "Nicky Flippers."

"Cool," I muttered as I made a note to remember never to call this 'Nicky' guy 'Froggie'.

"So," he began after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. "When the police arrived, you were stuck in a wall. Is there any particular reason for this?"

"Well... I was walking down the road, looking for any suspicious faces—."

"What kind of 'suspicious faces'," the police chief demanded harshly.

"'Goodie bandit', suspicious," I responded from the interruption. "Now, as I was saying..."

* * *

(Flashback)

 _I was walking down the road, trying to identify any potential suspects, right? Well, this girl with a red hood was riding her bike and nearly_ RAN ME OVER! _So, being the city boy I am, I got jealous of her freedom, so..._

I grabbed a skateboard from my back and slapped the wheels on the ground. With the board on the ground, I stepped on, pushed off, and felt the light breeze flow through my close-crop hair. Oh, _man_ , the wind felt good—better than the adrenaline of a rifle shot or a horseback ride. A few more times I pushed my foot to the ground and I just let the road carry me. Never felt more alive than that time.

I came across a small shop which just hung up a sign saying "Recipes Stolen". I stopped the board right next to the door just as the owner was about to head in.

"Howdy," I spoke up, making the sad owner look up.

"Oh," he whispered. "Hey."

"How's it going, sir?"

"Terrible. Recipes: stolen. Goodies: gone. Business: good for nothing."

"Now, it isn't over until you give up. Can you give me any ideas about what happened here?"

"The Goodie Bandit happened, that's what!"

"Okay, be a little more specific than that, sir. I'm gonna crack down on this fella once I find him, so you're gonna have to give me more details than that." The critter sighed.

"The door locks were broken when I came here; I come in to find all the shelves empty and the recipe book nowhere to be found."

"Jeez," I muttered to myself.

"No kidding," he shrugged. "That ring any bells?"

"Well, it's similar to all the other robberies in this vicinity, that's for sure. Where do you think the next robbery will be?"

"Well, Granny Puckett's a possibility. Best baker in the forest, I'll tell ya."

"Where's the shop?"

"Her house is... you see that clearing over there? That's her house right there. Little Red goes from there to their shop on a daily basis—."

"Wait," I interrupted him. "Did you say 'Little Red'? Was she wearing a red hood and riding a bike?"

"Are you from around here or not? She's Granny's granddaughter. She goes around and delivers goodies for Granny."

"Ah. And to answer your question, no I am not from around here. Grandad and I are from out West." I set the board down and stepped on before he could ask any more questions. "We'll chat later." I pushed off and rolled on like lightning. I finally had a lead on the Bandit and a plan to stop 'em, and I wasn't stopping until the crook was behind bars.

* * *

"So," Nicky stopped my explanation. "You had your lead, your plan, _and_ you knew what to expect?"

"No," I clarified. "I had a plan, but I didn't know what or who to expect. I just had a plan."

"And what was this plan?" I smiled like a psycho and started chuckling.

* * *

(Flashback)

 _Explosives. I was going to tripwire the place up, but leave enough room on the path for Red, Granny, and casual visitors to get out through._

I went to the nearest mine shack to pick up some dynamite, then to the nearest store which sold technology to grab some insulated copper wires and flintlock hammers.

* * *

"And Red is staring at me in disbelief," I mentioned, staring at the girl in question out of the corner of my eye. "And is still staring. In disbelief. Or fear. I can't tell which. And so is Grandad. And Granny Puckett. Let's just assume that everyone is staring at me in disbelief."

"Indeed," Nicky muttered calmly. "I assume you knew what you were doing?"

"Yes, yes I did. I already had some spare rope in my backpack—."

"Oh really? Where is it?"

"It blew up when someone threw a rock on a tripwire right next to me. Now, as I was saying, I hooked up the rope and the wires to the flintlock mechanisms. Those wires were, in turn, connected to the dynamite. I pulled the fuses out and replaced them with the wires."

"Interesting, Jett. Did they work?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I didn't catch the Bandit, but I sure did try."

"Did anything else happen?"

"Yes. A bunny came over and visited me while I was setting the traps..."

* * *

(Flashback)

"Hiya," the bunny said as I was pulling a fuse from a dynamite stick. I just grunted as I yanked the sucker out. "Whatcha doing?"

"Well, I'm trying not to blow up Granny's house; just the Goodie Bandit. What else would I use the dynamite for?"

"Well, why are you going for Granny's house?"

"Bandit will most likely head here next, so I'm going to surprise him with explosives."

"Wow. Don't ya think that's a little bit violent?" I just shrugged.

"I've faced worse threats."

"Like what?"

"Murderers, thieves, kidnappers, thugs, and even entire gangs."

"Oh, wow. You must be really tough." I heard the sarcasm in the bunny's voice.

"I had help. Grandad just takes me along for the ride, but I normally have to help out."

"Oh. Well, who's your Grandad?"

"You, mister Bunny, have asked me enough questions to fill an entire interrogation. I think it's time enough that you told me who you are and just what you're doing on the premises."

"My name's Boingo. What's yours—?"

"No more questions from your little mouth. What are you doing on the premises?"

"I'm just curious. What's your name?" I groaned.

"Jett Blaiz. Any more questions you wanna ask?"

"Just one." I huffed in defeat. "Who do you think the Bandit is?"

"Well, since you're on the premises, you're constantly asking me questions, and you've exaggerated your answers to my questions, I would say that you're a good suspect. Maybe not _the_ suspect, but definitely _a_ suspect." I set the dynamite in the ground, covered it with soil, and set the tripwire. "Perimeter established. Get out before you blow us both to pieces." Boingo bounced away, a sad look on his face.

 _After that, I grabbed a rifle and some binoculars, climbed a tree, and waited._

 _Finally, Granny Puckett came around. In_ a _rather strange, unpredictable, creepy way, but she did so just as the Wolf was coming in, so I assumed that she always does this. Things only got weirder._

I took the binoculars and leveled them through the house's windows. Sure enough, the Wolf was cosplaying as Granny Puckett. The rifle's range wasn't far enough to reach Wolfie, so I climbed down and came a little closer. A rock flew at a nearby tripwire for an even closer stick of dynamite.

 _The rock set off a ring of explosions, I went flying into—no, through—the wall, and that's about it from my point of view. A few seconds after I hit the wall, I heard Grandad falling; he landed in the chimney, nearly knocked over Wolfie, and seconds later that danged woodsman crashed through the window._

* * *

"So you didn't dig your way into the wall, but were literally blown into it," Nicky understood. I nodded. "Do you still think the bunny was behind the robberies?"

"It's possible," I admitted. "I don't know who threw the rock, but I could've been roast Jett had I not been as far ahead of the dynamite as I was. I swear, my life flashed before my eyes back there."

"Alright," Nicky finalized, shutting off the tape recorder. "I suppose it's time to bring in another possible suspect. Thank you, Jett, for your cooperation."

"No problem, Nicky," I answered, walking out. "Do I still have to be handcuffed?"

"He does have a point," Nick agreed. "Could someone remove these cuffs? Besides, it _is_ rather ironic that the grandson of a well-known cowboy from the West would be handcuffed by police from the Woods, don't you think?"

* * *

Both I and Red were standing in the doorway as the officers interrogated the Wolf and the bigger guy (whose name I never knew was Kirk). Strangely, I started sweating really badly at around this time, so I pulled off the black button-up to reveal a gray Air Force shirt. Granny Puckett would've been interrogated next, but a closet was opened and a bag was emptied. As usual, I wasn't paying attention to anything that was said—except for some 'secrets' discussion between Red and Granny. That was, I paid no mind until an officer spoke up about something interesting.

"Hey, Chief," the stork called as he opened a closet door. "Check this out." Inside was a large variety of trophies, awards, and wrestling belts from a wider variety of sports. In fact, I recognized one or two belts to be kickboxing tournament belts.

"Dear Jesus, Puckett," Grandad mumbled. "How on Earth did you rack up all this?" Granny Puckett began walking across the room.

"I noticed you had three 'G's tattooed on the back of your neck," Nicky observed. "That's appropriate, since there are three strikes against you." The elderly woman turned around to face the frog.

"It's true," she admitted. "I'm not like other grannies. I never did like the quilting bees and the bingo parlors; I'd rather live life to the extreme."

Out of everyone in the room, three people were shocked: Grandad, myself, and Red. Grandad had this distant look in his eye, like Granny reminded him of something. I was scared for any confrontation between Red, Granny, or Grandad. Red, on the other hand, looked hurt, as if she'd just taken a bullet for her grandmother only to learn that said relative had betrayed the younger girl. I felt sorry for Red, but I couldn't relate to it. I tried to say something, but nothing came to mind.

"Well," Grandad finally confirmed. "This is awkward. Jett, you want to grab some coffee—."

"No thanks," I answered without missing a beat. "I'm good right here." I could almost smell his curiosity.

"Jett, I promise you: I'm not holding anything back from you."

Granny went on to explain her side of the story, but there was still one piece of the puzzle left to discover:

"Hey, Grandad," I pondered aloud while Granny was talking about the avalanche. "How _did_ you fall through the chimney? You couldn't have been thrown by dynamite, or you would've been fried and I would've seen you."

"Well, I was, uh—."

"Don't lie to him, cowboy," Chief griped at Grandad.

"Oh, alright. FINE." He turned to me. "Let's take this somewhere else, Jett."

"No," I responded. "We can talk out here. I'm sure that everyone wants to hear your side of the story." He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.

"Okay, you win. I didn't come here because of the Goodie Bandit; I decided you could handle that one on your own. I actually got a call from a good buddie of mine about a rogue cowboy; said the crook was raiding mine shacks, construction depots, and small home improvement stores. He also said he had a hunch that the Bandit and the Rogue were on the same side for some reason. I answered right away that I'd be there in a few weeks. Gramma heard about this and demanded I take you with. I was just gonna take on the Bandit and the Rogue on my own, but your Gramma talked some sense into me. So I decided that you should take on the Bandit while I stabilized the Rogue threat."

I couldn't believe it. He had heard of another crook and didn't tell me about it. I pulled my hat down to cover my eyes.

"I didn't want you getting hurt out there by the mountain, so I went alone. I and a former ranger were scouting out an old abandoned mineshaft when he found something fishy: a plantation guarded by barbed wire. When we took a closer look, I saw fields of green and bits of yellow. I found a leaf blown to our side of the fence; I instantly recognized it as a tobacco leaf. That was round about when some city-dwellers came out of the clear blue wearing yellow hoodies and toting AK-47's. We tried to hold them off, and were just about finished when some psycho on a guard tower pulled out a nine-barreled rocket launcher. Either that or it was an anti-aircraft gun. I don't know what it was, but all nine barrels went active and I went flying. Thankfully I knew how to properly skydive without parachutes, 'cause I went flying at least five hundred feet vertical. I tried slowing my descent, but I just kept on flying. I saw that dynamite blow up below your feet, and I thought it was the end of me. Only a miracle propelled me to the chimney. Nearly knocked that Wolf over just as Puckett broke through the closet all tied up. A few seconds later, Kirk smashed through the window yelling like a psycho facility escapee." He took a deep breath just as Puckett finished her explanation.

"Well," Nicky spoke in his rather quiet voice. "It's good to know that there are illegal crops at the base of a mountain."

"I think the tobacco crisped up when I went flying," Grandad admitted. "Either way, that Rogue is on to something. I want to know what it is and stop it before he causes any damage."

I lifted the brim of the hat on my head, crossed my arms, and just looked straight forward. I didn't know what to feel: anger, denial, sadness, or just what. I didn't understand why Grandad would want to hide something this disastrous from me. My grandfather must have noticed my confused state.

"Jett," he said. "You okay?" I just kept looking forward. "Is something wrong?"

"Why wouldn't you tell me about this," I demanded. "I could just have easily helped you out."

"I... I didn't want to see you hurt." I turned my head to him and raised an eyebrow.

"Awkward," the stork officer muttered after a couple of seconds, inching around the wall until he couldn't see the room.

"Is that it? Do you really care that much about me? Or do you just think I'm too young?"

"Jett," he started again. "You know I care for ya. You know I do. You're my only grandson."

"You weren't caring much when you straight-up lied to me. You've told me about at least a hundred different rogues, so why didn't you say anything about this one?"

"It was for your own good, Jett."

"For my own good, was it? Or was it more along the lines of personal gain?" An uncomfortable silence settled over the house.

"Coffee break, anyone," Nicky finally got out, following the other officers as they left the room.

"Austin, I'm sorry for not telling you," Grandad apologised, using my first name. "It was just too dangerous for you to handle."

"Too dangerous to handle," I questioned. "Pull the bandanna off your eyes, Grandad. I'm armed to the teeth in knives and rounds, seasoned in five martial arts, and more than willing to help out. Every time you went off, I would wonder where and why you were off to. I mean, sure you told me a lot, but you didn't tell me enough. I wanted to be just like you all my life, even before Dad got arrested. What else could I possibly want from life as a cowboy?" Grandad smiled.

"I understand what you're saying. All Blaizes have a part of them that wants to be free; it runs in your blood." I exhaled slowly.

"I don't know what freedom is anymore." I took off my hat and dropped it on the ground at his feet, then stepped out the door. Red had already left moments earlier.

"There he is," a reporter shouted as I crossed the police tape. "There's the cowboy."

"No," another protested. "He's not wearing the hat or the shirt." I passed without an interviewer. Without a clear sense of direction, I began walking in a random direction away from the house.

As I passed through the forest—towards the mountain range, to be precise—I remembered all the campfire stories Grandad told me: a giant tarantula attack; a scorpion the size of a cat; even the time when he and I both took on that twelve-foot grizzly bear a few years back.

I stopped when I got to a waterfall. Red was there, probably reminiscing over her own memories. I knew that it would be unwise to try and hold a conversation at this moment, knowing what Gramma told me about girls my age; given that she was looking pretty down, I decided to leave her to her own problems. I kept on walking through the forest until I reached a particular clearing—one which seemed unnatural and smelled of petroleum and tobacco...

I heard voices nearby, so I dove into the nearby brush and hoped that they didn't spot me. Thankfully they didn't hear me, but I certainly heard them.

"How much petroleum," a city-gang accent rumbled from a rough-looking man. I heard static come a few seconds later.

"Enough to keep the dozers going," a voice on the other end responded.

"A hundred 60-gallon tubs?"

"Are they in barrels?"

"Yes."

"Will it keep the dozers going?"

"For three days full speed non-stop."

"Then yes, pack it in. What's the status on the factory?" The voices were getting fainter at this point, so I went to follow the stranger.

"Almost done. Five crates worth ready for packing; almost done with the sixth."

"Tell 'em to hurry the—" profane term "—up. Wade wants it ready to go pronto."

"Tell him I'll do my best. These ain't no cigarettes, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah. The bunny wants the nicotine, and Wade promised to fork it over in exchange for half the cash." Nicotine? Just what are they planning?

"I know; the more we have, the more cash we get. I'll go and pack the five crates we have, then I'll go back and get the sixth. Over and out." I waited until the man was a good ways into the forest before I struck. I tackled the guy and put a knee between his shoulder blades.

"Who the Hell are you," he demanded as he struggled to get up.

"Your worst nightmare," I responded. "I overheard your conversation on the radio. What's the nicotine for?"

"Why the—" more profanity "—do you care?" I put more weight on his spine. "I don't know, okay? The bunny wanted it, Wade offered it, I worked it; that's all I know."

"Who's the bunny?"

"You ain't the brightest bulb in the box, are you," he taunted, grimacing when I pulled his arms back. "Put the clues together, little man. The bunny took all the recipes so far. The bunny wants the competition blasted to Hell and back. The bunny gets really sarcastic at times." My mind clicked the puzzle pieces together. Boingo was the Goodie Bandit. Makes sense, but there's still one piece to the puzzle.

"Who's Wade, and why the Hell is he here," I demanded quickly. This time, the guy was straightforward.

"James Watson Blaiz went to prison on charges of child abuse, assault, and possession of tobacco and other illegal drugs. He got out three years ago and got a new name: Wade Johnson. He started a cartel and I came in. He was caught and arrested for possession of illegal drugs, but got out a month ago. He wants to set up shop here where Boingo was. Things got crazier from there." My mind started flying faster than lightning. I tried to remember any cousins, uncles, or relatives in general with the name James Watson, but nothing came to mind. I knocked the guy out and hid him in the brush. I turned around to face the clearing and nearly had a heart attack at the massive rolling fortress before me...

 **END**

* * *

 **That about wraps that up. No confusion intended, so let me clarify that Jett's full name is Austin Jett Blaiz. His grandfather already explained why they were there, so no need to explain that. As for the Rogue Cowboy, I will fully explain in the next chapter, as with the reasoning behind Grandad's hiding the Rogue from Austin.**

 **Factoid(s) of the chapter: the only reason I started writing this is because I saw Hoodwinked Too (late much, I know) and my insane imagination took it to new heights. I intended this story to start around that time, but my ever-changing and ever-rationalizing mind twisted things to the point where the plot makes much more sense to me now. Henceforth, here we are. Geographically (if the Hoodwinked world is one and the same with Earth), I would have to put the Forest either somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains of North America or near the Rockies. Given the snow-capped mountains North-East of the Forest, this places the Forest near the Mid-Western side of the Appalachian Mountains. This would place the West near Texas and Oklahoma, and Big City from the sequel in either the Gulf of Mexico or on the Western seaboard. Judging by the bridge seen in the first moments of seeing Big City, I would place Big City in the equivalent of Los Angeles or near a Texas/Louisiana port city (if anybody else has his/her own opinion on geographic locations, please share your theory). This is all assuming that the continents have shrunk down, so approximate locations are approximate (Jesus, I feel like I work with CinemaSins; with that in mind, I would like to point out that I do not own or work with CinemaSins).**

 **Multiple questions are out there from this chapter, most from near the end:**

 **1\. Who is the Rogue cowboy, and what kind of relationship does he have with Austin (this one should be easy)?**

 **2\. What sort of crazy contraption did Austin find?**

 **3\. Will Austin's relationship with his grandfather rebuild itself?**

 **4\. As most lawmakers and police officers know, nicotine is a drug found in tobacco and its products. Is this the 'Boingonium' Boingo spoke of in the original film (again, this is an easy question)?**

 **5\. For every plan, there is a counterplan. Austin is skilled in counterplans and sabotages. What is the Rogue planning with Boingo, and how will Austin counterplan?**

 **6\. Will Austin call for help from Grandad, or strike it out on his own? More importantly, will he even make it out of there alive?**

 **If you have an answer or an idea, slap it down in a review or just PM me. I wouldn't normally say this, but I know that some answers will be longer than Fanfiction review limits; thus being said, if you have a long answer and are too nervous to PM me, put out multiple reviews (just be sure to keep them all under your name/Pen name [Fanfiction will not allow more than one review per reader, so for the second/nth review just do it as a guest and say that it's you in the review]). Otherwise, I seriously hope I confused nobody and will see you all next chapter.**


	2. The Cartel's Fall

**Back again. Yes, I know; Texas shows his ugly face once more. Anywhere from three to all questions from last chapter will be answered in this chapter. Oh, it's good to be back. I may have to start a new habit or two on FF: Factoids of the Chapter and; Questions for Next Chapter.**

 **TO ALL YOUNG READERS: I must apologize for the drug reference last chapter. HOWEVER, it does make sense in my mind, as nicotine is the addictive part of tobacco products and is probably extractable from the leaf; with Boingo's 'Boingonium' being more addictive than caffeine, I decided that nicotine would be the perfect addictive substance without having to create a whole new element on the periodic table. I will point out that drugs are not something to play around with; I may not do drugs, but I know people who do. Believe me, drugs are not to be played with; they take control of you like lightning. Root Beer, music, and God are like drugs to me, but those aren't drugs—they're just addictive, so I suggest them instead of drugs.**

 **BACK on topic, I hope you readers remember what I said about geography last chapter, because it will be important in later chapters. Maybe not this chapter, but in a later chapter most definitely.**

 **To avoid copyright infringement, I would like to point out that I do not own the Hoodwinked! franchise. I only own Austin, the Rogue, Grandad, and any other original ideas that made (or will make) their way into this story. Any references I make, whether in the story or in the Author's Notes, which are not original are obviously not my own unless they come from an eBook franchise or a YouTube channel which I clearly own. I'm also 100% certain that I'm ranting, so I'll just cut to the chase.**

* * *

 **Legends of the West**

 **a Hoodwinked! fiction**

 **Chapter 2: The Cartel's Fall**

* * *

(Austin, first person)

I honestly did not expect what I saw: a massive train—cars included—with treads instead of tracks. It looked like a Satanic cross between a train and a world war tank. On the side of every car was a weird insignia: a black diamond with a white Zorro-style mask. I assumed that was the Rogue's way of marking his turf. Either way, the entire thing didn't look friendly.

'Okay,' my mind raced for an answer. 'The Rogue's got his henchmen loading this thing with drugs, petroleum, and construction equipment. Shouldn't be too hard to take. How hard can this be?'

I heard footsteps behind me and to my left, and responded by climbing up to the fourth branch of a tree to limit the chances of them seeing me. I looked down to see a small convoy of henchmen carrying crate-loads of something. The last two in line were really lagging behind, carrying a large crate with the lid on. I waited until they were right under me to jump down on top of them. I ended up landing knees-first on the guy farthest from the freak-show train. The other man pulled out a gun, but I was _way_ faster. I stood up, drew the pistol on the right side of my belt, and swatted him upside the head with the stock before he could draw his machine gun. I had to admit, I liked the design of the guy's gun. I looked on the side of the gun to see the model: P-90. I slid the assault rifle on my back behind my brown hood, then searched the two unconscious men for ammunition and other weapons; I found two Glock-18s, one of those Taser-baton things, a large brown cloth bag, and a key which I assumed went to the lock on the crate. Placing the weapons and their holsters among my own, I inserted the key into the lock and turned. With the lock out of the way, I opened the lid on the crate to see hundreds of sticks and bundles of dynamite with remote-detonation caps. I looked on the lid for the remote; sure enough, it was there.

'This Rogue really needs to get some better security,' I mentally noted as I grabbed some dynamite and stuffed it into the cloth bag. As soon as I'd filled the bag to the brim and closed it, I grabbed the detonator and set off to the train. Perfectly timed, too, because the treads were just then starting to roll. I jumped up on the treads and started walking backwards, using the darkness as my only cover. I looked all along the side of the train for a place to hide in; finally I found one near the top of the train. I jumped up and grabbed the ledge of the square opening.

Upon sitting down in the opening, I discovered just how perfect it was for my size. It was just like Gramma's cabinets: as wide as my shoulders, as tall as my torso and head combined, and as deep as my arms could reach.

* * *

(3rd person, at the Puckett house)

"It would seem that all of you came together tonight by mistake," Nicky Flippers addressed the ragtag group in the living room. "Maybe if you naughty neighbors butted heads again, we could get to the real truth."

"The Goodie Bandit," Wolf understood.

" _That's_ right," Nicky emphasized. "The Bandit's still at large. There's been a lot of finger-pointing tonight, but right now, all fingers point to the Bandit."

"Not my finger," Kirk over-reacted, sucking his index finger. Nicky turned to the actor.

"Oh, no; you were just out damaging forest property, cutting down the redwoods we all call home. A guy like you could probably take whatever you wanted from goodie-loving creatures, couldn't you?"

"But someone robbed me," Kirk argued, starting to panic. "Have we lost track of that?"

"That's right, someone _did_ ," Nicky agreed. "Maybe a snack-food competitor. Right, _Granny_?"

"Now, hold on a pea-picking minute," Granny growled. "I may lead a double-life full of secrets and deception, but that's no reason to be suspicious."

"A woman would have a lot to gain," Nicky reasoned. "Stealing all those recipes."

"And that's how she makes her goodies so good," the police chief understood.

"Or," Nicky changed his mind. "She could just be another victim—of a hungry wolf." The chief growled at Wolf.

"Oh, the wolf did it," Wolf griped. "Talk about profiling."

"Why should we trust someone who wears disguises for a living," Nicky questioned.

"Maybe he's not a wolf at all," the chief reasoned. The elderly Blaiz rolled his eyes at the bear's stupidity.

"You got me," Wolf spoke. "I'm actually a poodle; just haven't been to the barbershop in a long while—."

"Is this all just a big joke to you," the chief demanded.

"Okay, I just followed the little girl here," Wolf confessed.

"You leave my granddaughter alone," Granny ordered the canine.

"Yes, of course," Nicky caught on. "Or maybe you could've been chased by a gun-toting cowboy."

"Hey, I wasn't even there," Grandad snapped. "I was off investigating an illegal plantation of tobacco."

"Investigating it," the frog questioned. "Or tending to it?"

"Maybe _he's_ the rogue cowboy," the bear thought.

"Hey, I'm just trying to fix what my son broke," the old man said. "And don't you go blaming my grandson, Froggie; I sent him out to stop the Bandit, and he was doing a fine job. I think." He thought back to the crater on the lawn. "Or maybe he's just suicidal. I don't know, I can't tell the difference."

"Oh, don't worry about Austin," the investigator ensured. "I assure you he's only guilty of using dynamite to stop the Bandit. Rather violent, I should think."

"Yeah, but those fireworks must've been pretty cool," the grizzly admitted. Grandad just glared at the bear.

"What's your name," he asked the towering chief.

"Chief Ted Grizzly," the chief answered. "Why?"

"One, I was just curious," Grandad responded. "And secondly—wait, you're _the_ Ted Grizzly? Didn't we meet in the sixties? I was chief and you were a high schooler?"

"Well, uh… Wait, that was _you_?"

"I think so, though I don't know. You may wanna check through the records here, but those were some good times."

"Enough said on that," Nicky interrupted the two law-enforcers. "We still have little Red. The girl with the basket on the run." Only then did he notice that she was missing. "Where is she, anyway?" Ted spoke with the officer who _was_ holding the basket, groaning at what he heard.

"The recipes are _gone_ ," Grizzly shouted.

* * *

The train was really moving now, with trees whipping by like I was on a real train. How long this ride was going to last, I didn't know, but I wanted to find out where they were going or what they were doing.

* * *

"Are you saying that Red is the Bandit," Officer Bill Stork asked, seeming to be excited.

"Not my Red," Granny protested.

"Calm down there, Triple-G," Nicky ordered. "The only thing your granddaughter is guilty of is flying a swarm of hummingbirds without a license. It would seem there is another player in this game; someone who's hippity-hopped his way through all your stories." Grandad groaned.

"Don't say it," he moaned.

"Oh, yes," the investigator replied. "There's someone else. He was the only one who was with Red when she fell; who knew a shortcut to Granny's; who fraternizes with evil ski teams; someone who was there when the Schnitzel truck was schnitzeled; and someone who was curious about a buried dynamite trap intended for him." Granny gasped.

"NOT THE BUNNY," she nearly shouted.

"Ugh," Grandad groaned louder than his horse. "I told you not to say it."

"I knew it," Wolf exclaimed. "Never trust a bunny."

"NEVER TRUST A BUNNY," Twitchy agreed with a shout.

"Uh, Chief," Officer Raccoon told his superior officer. "Nobody's seen the girl or the bunny, and that cable car just left the station."

* * *

I got bored just staring at nothing but trees whishing by me, so I decided to look ahead of the train. I regretted the sneak peek instantly: the train wasn't headed for the cable car station, but towards a massive fortress held up by five other tank-trains right next to the station. The thing looked like a fat, short train, but a million times bigger. This thing must've been over three-stories tall. The only thing that could come to mind was something I wished I never had reason to think: 'Holy crap'. I took out a pair of binoculars on my belt and started analyzing the towering structure. The train was approaching it fast, and I wanted a good look of the sides and what I could of the top before the ride went below. I saw what looked like the command deck, a ramp beneath a door, and claw-like clamps on the trains. Wait, _what_?! I looked closer to see that those clamps went right where I was sitting. I had to get off before those things crushed me.

Finally the train came to dock, slowing down enough for me to get off without flying off or get flattened. I stepped onto the treads and jumped from one to another until I got to an opening in the locomotive. I swung in when the driver wasn't looking and ducked behind the door.

When the train stopped, massive claw things began grabbing and lifting the cars on the locomotive. I swung open the cabin door when the claws clamped down on my car, slamming it shut before part of the fortress lowered on the cabin. This didn't go unnoticed, as the driver trained his P-90 on my head and ordered me not to move. I obeyed for a little bit, then kicked the gun out of his hands and threw an uppercut at his jaw. He swung low—aiming for my abdomen—and missed, giving me the opportunity to smack him a good one across the forehead. The man collapsed, totally unconscious. I took this opportunity to grab a handheld radio (also on my belt) and contact Grandad.

* * *

"Now the rest is up to us," Granny confirmed as Twitchy went into an over-caffeinated rush and almost literally flew to stop the cops headed the wrong way. Kirk just asked if he could have coffee, probably thinking that that would make him super-fast like the squirrel. Suddenly, something rang in Grandad's pocket. He pulled out a handheld radio to hear static. Austin's voice sprang up out of the static:

"Alpha? Alpha, come in." Grandad understood what Austin was saying, having taught the boy what he called codespeak himself. He pulled the radio to his mouth and pushed the talk button.

"Alpha here," he spoke. "What is it, Bravo?"

"I have located Rogue base," Austin spoke. "Near the old cable car station in the mountain. Loads of liquid nicotine, petroleum, and construction equipment onboard. Look for the massive box on treads. I'm going to sabotage the treads, nicotine, and construction equipment with remote-det dynamite."

"Hold on, Bravo. Nicotine? Petrol? Construction equipment? What are they doing with that?"

"I don't know, Alpha; I just know it's not going to be pretty. From what I got out of a henchman I was lucky enough to catch, Rogue and Bandit are working together." Grandad thought of what the two had and didn't have, and any common goals between the two; he sharply inhaled when he figured it out.

"Bravo, pay attention. Bandit has all the recipes. Rogue has nicotine. Think it through. All Bandit needs is a drug for addiction and he would be top of the line. Rogue is the leader of a drug cartel. What do you think is their plan." He waited for a response from his grandson.

"They're going to drug kids up, aren't they?" Grandad nodded.

"That's right." Granny came up and whispered something in Grandad's ear. "Is… is Rouge there?"

"No clue, though I'm guessing she's in the cable car station on the side of the mountain."

"Good. You two are pretty much in the same spot."

"No, I'm in the valley at the base of the mountain. I can see that plantation you were talking about, though. You weren't kidding around about that tobacco; Jesus, I can smell it from here."

* * *

"Alright. We'll get Rouge out of there, then we'll come for you," he promised. "In the meantime, try to break out of there if you can—."

"Grandad," I interrupted him. "Do you remember how you would do anything to stop those rogue cowboys you faced? It's my turn to do that. I'm going to sabotage their nicotine supply."

"Austin—."

"Grandad," I stopped him. "If I don't do this, a lot of people are going to get hurt or killed. And that's before the nicotine. After that, even more would be hospitalized or buried. I don't want that to happen, and I doubt you do either."

"You're my grandson," he tried once more. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"I know. But I can't let Boingo or Wade go through with this. I'm going to sabotage him either which way; you know this, right?" I turned off the radio and put it back on my belt, then opened the door.

The place was huge. There were freight cars stacked everywhere, neatly labeled; among them were henchmen, and lots of them. I immediately hid behind a nearby support pillar and prayed that nobody saw me. When nobody came around the corner, I exhaled and began planning the sabotage.

'I can't cause a ruckus without getting killed,' my mind concluded. 'It would be a good idea to get all the dynamite off my person before I detonate it all. Most importantly, I have to get rid of all this nicotine. I have the element of surprise; I can do this. Don't get caught, lose the dynamite, blow up all the nicotine, get out. Piece of cake.'

I snuck from around the pillar and set to work. Dynamite went wherever nicotine or gasoline was. I also slipped some dynamite around support pillars wherever I could without getting caught. I even set some down in the trains to slow the thing down. All I needed was two more sticks of dynamite by the time I was caught, and at that point it was intentional. My mind had everything set up, and I knew it would work.

The two henchmen behind me pushed me into an elevator I didn't notice before; to make it seem more realistic and not arouse suspicions, I put up a little struggle. Once inside, the guy on my left pushed a button and up we went; I didn't like the feeling in my gut as the elevator pulled us up, but I did find the elevator music to be catchy.

The henchmen behind me pushed me out as the elevator doors dinged open. Apparently we were in the command room, because I recognized the windows showing the night sky and saw a figure who appeared to be in control. Said figure turned around and showed his unshaven face; his hair was a dark brown, and he wore a black leather jacket, blue jeans, combat boots, and a belt with six knives and two Glock-18s.

"Who's this," he demanded of the two henchmen. "Was he a trespasser or a sight-seer?"

"Trespasser," the man to my right answered. The man in charge just groaned.

"Well, how'd he get in?" The other guy just shrugged. "Give me some space; I'd like to have a little chat with our visitor."

"Yes sir," the two men responded, walking back to the elevator. The leader turned to me.

"Just what the Hell do you want," he demanded. "Did Dad send you? If so, go back and tell him he's too late." I just raised an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. You know damn good and well I know you work for him."

"I don't even know who your dad is," I got out after a few seconds of total confusion; I got another groan.

"William Blaiz," the guy snapped. "He ever told you his name?"

"That's my Grandad," I responded. One last groan—this one sounding tortured—along with him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Great. Not only is Dad in town, he also brought another relative." He looked at me with a half-lidded stare. "You got a name, kid?"

"Hold on. You're telling me that I'm related to the Rogue cowboy. Can someone tell me what I've missed here?!"

"Hold your horses, kid. One, I'm not the Rogue; I just work for him. Secondly, you didn't answer my question: what the Hell is your name. Thirdly, how the"—profane term—"did you even get in here?"

"What? You mean you're not—."

"My question first," he interrupted me. I sighed in defeat, knowing I wouldn't be able to conceal my identity and that my plan was falling like rain.

"My name is Austin. Austin Jett Blaiz. I found one of your trains, hopped on, got in when I got here, and here we are." He stared at me with wide eyes. I could almost smell his disbelief; I didn't know whether he couldn't believe my name or couldn't believe my skills. Finally—after, like, a minute—he started shouting curses like a psychopath straight out of the mental institution.

"How the holy f-king Hell did I forget," he roared. "What the f-ck was he thinking? Damn-it, Dad! Why'd you make him a cowboy? WHY?! Oh, mother f-ker, this one's going to be tough to explain. Ugh, things are going to get _really_ heated now."

"What was that all about," I asked after he'd calmed down. He looked up at me through his hands pulling his long hair.

"I'm sorry about that, Austin," he calmly apologized. "It's just been so f-king long." He noticed the confused look on my face. "I'm going to have to start from the beginning, aren't I?"

"Yep," I answered, earning me a sigh. Unbeknownst to him, I'd grabbed my radio and pressed the talk button; I wanted Grandad to verify this if he could.

"You know how your Grandad is my father, right? Well, I had a brother—Benny—who really didn't like me for getting married so soon. About sixteen years ago, he got married and had a son—of all the names, he called him Jacob Rodney Blaiz. Two years later, I had a son of my own; since I had the names but not the order, I let Dad and Benny pick the order. Benny decided on Jett Austin because he liked the initials 'JAB'; Dad came up to me and said he had a dream from God, telling me his name should be Austin Jett Blaiz." The confusion skyrocketed. "So I went with Dad's decision, which drove Benny insane. He rarely visited my place on the outskirts of the city; my sister-in-law told me he'd resorted to video games and alcohol on his off-time; Hell, even Jacob was going down a dark path.

"It got really bad one Thanksgiving. Dad said he couldn't come, saying some fascist riot had started near New York and he was off to deal with it. Benny was reluctant, but Jenny—that's his wife's name, by the way—eventually got him out of his hidey-hole. At around the time that the sun was setting, I was helping my son read 'Moby Dick' in illustrated paperback when Lizzy—my wife—called for me. She said she needed help getting the turkey out of the oven and setting the table, so I opted to help. I told Benny to keep an eye on my son while I tended to the turkey and the table. Come to find out, he decided to beat the living crap out of my six-year-old son for 'interrupting his game'. So I get mad and splash my coffee all over his biker jacket, cursing him out for hurting my son; that was the biggest mistake of my life. He pulls out this six-inch switchblade and says he's going to kill me. I'm freaking out at this point, so I start backing away slowly. He _charges_ at me and chases me around the kitchen island. I accidentally spill a cup of water on the floor, jump over the puddle, and head to the other side of the island. Benny didn't even care, didn't even notice the puddle until he slipped on it. That switchblade ended up buried in his chest, to the point where I couldn't even see the hilt. He was dead before either of us could apologize.

"The cops, when they got there, arrested me for child abuse and murder. Dad gets custody over Austin while Jacob gets to live with his mother. The court finds me guilty and sends me to prison for life. Two years later, they figure out what _really_ happened and let me serve the rest of the year before releasing me with a full pardon and apology to the media." His head fell, leaving him looking at the floor. "At this point, I have no life left to live, so I just walked the streets for a week. This drug cartel leader called Wade comes up to me, tells me he married my former sister-in-law, and threatens my nephew's life unless I joined the cartel. I decided I had no choice but to join, and—as reluctant as the choice was—here I am. Sitting here wondering if I could've changed things had I played my cards differently." He let out a shaky breath, allowing tears to fall to the ground.

'Jeez,' my mind concluded. 'This guy's had a full life. He was blamed for his own brother's death, and was forced to give his son to Grandad. I feel sorry for—wait a minute. My uncle was killed when I was six, and Dad went to jail at around the same time…'

Just then, the radio in my hand crackled; I forgot I let go of the talk button. Grandad's voice rang through the speaker:

"Austin? Are you there?"

The man before me turned to me, eyebrow raised. I blushed brightly, bringing up the radio to my mouth.

"Yeah," I responded. "What's up?"

"Did you intentionally hold the talk button, or did your rifle hit it again?"

"It was totally intentional, Grandad. I wanted you to hear and verify the story. Did you hear it?"

"I did."

"Is it clear?"

"Yes. Hey, could you pass the radio to my son for a minute?"

"Oh," I responded, taken aback by this question. "Uh, sure thing." I passed the radio to the relative now sitting in one of those rolling office chairs.

"James," Grandad spoke to the man. "Is this really you?"

"Dad," the man replied. "It's been so long." Tears fell from the man's eyes.

"Yeah, it has. For five years, that Rogue was terrorizing the whole continent; just as long, I thought that villain was you."

"I take it you heard the story?"

"Every last word. And I believe every single one of 'em."

"Yeah," the man glumly said. "I kind of thought you—wait, what? You… you believe it?"

"I do," Grandad replied. "And I'm very glad that I do. I will have to clear your side of the story with the police in downtown St. Louis, but I believe it." The man smiled.

"Did you take care of my son," he asked.

"Of course I did; otherwise, he wouldn't be in that room with you." My mind snapped the pieces of the puzzle into place from hearing those words. The brown hair, the last name, the familiar story—it all fit together. I had finally brought light to the question plaguing my nightmares, and the answer was sitting in the same room as I was.

I sat there staring at my father for what seemed like a good five minutes, a serious lump in my throat. Finally, Dad handed me the radio, looking me in the eye while doing so.

"We have a lot to talk about," I admitted.

"Yeah, we do," he agreed.

The elevator door hissed open, still playing that cheesy elevator music, but what—who—came out was nightmare material.

"What the f-ck is taking so long," the man demanded, passing me in his angry march towards Dad. "I thought I told you to—." The towering mass turned his glare at me, apparently having noticed me. "Who the mother f-ck is this, Jimmie?"

"Wade," Dad said, standing up rapidly. "I, uh, I didn't see you there."

"Is this the intruder I keep hearing about," he demanded. His hand shot out for my throat; I tried to evade, but the Rogue was a million times faster than I thought possible. I dropped the bag of dynamite at his feet, prying at the beefy hand which was suffocating me. Dad pulled out both Glock-18s and leveled them with Wade's head.

"Let go of my son now or I will pull the trigger," my father threatened, more vicious than a mother bear. Wade turned his attention to Dad.

"So you _did_ have a little brat in your prime," Wade taunted. "I thought you said you didn't."

"I didn't because I was arrested."

"Well, now you won't for another reason."

I felt a few joints in my neck popping as he tightened his grip on my small neck. Dad turned his aim to Wade's shoulder and pulled the trigger; I fell to the floor like a ragdoll, gasping for air as Wade gripped his shoulder in pain. I thought he would leave the room, but he instead kicked me across the room—straight into Dad, to be precise. A remote detonator skidded across the room with us; Wade walked over to us and picked it up with his good arm.

"I guess I can't kill you just yet," the Rogue commented. "Although, you _were_ useful while you lasted. As a thank you, I'll just detonate all that you set up. Say goodbye to the Forest and its critters, Jimmie." He flipped open the red cover on the black box and pressed the now-revealed button.

Nothing happened. No distant _BANG_ , no instant flash of light, no nothing. The Rogue smacked the tiny detonator with his big hands and shook it up a bit as dawn approached.

"What the f-ck," the criminal mumbled, beating the living crap out of the device. I started chuckling as I pulled out my own detonator.

"Beating on it won't fix it, you know," I mentioned as I flipped the cover on my detonator; at this point, Wade was bashing the detonator against the control panel. "I swear, Wade, your security sucks worse than an ant eater. Look down." He did and noticed that the two sticks of dynamite had stuck to the bottoms of his spiked boots.

"Son of a—." I pushed the button. The force of the explosion sent Dad and I flying out of the room, but our flight paled in comparison to Wade's flight along the cable car line.

Both Dad and I went flying along the side of the mountain, screaming like banshees and flailing our arms like ragdolls gone wild. I seriously thought we were goners, but two ropes saved us both from certain death. I felt myself swing up like a pendulum before I felt or saw the rope. Looking up along the two ropes, I found that Grandad and another cowboy had grabbed ropes and lassoed both I and Dad.

Once we were back up on the mountain, we took a moment to look at the damage my sabotaging had caused. The entire rolling fortress had exploded, probably killing everyone in it—either that or they went flying like Wade, in which case we wouldn't be seeing them until they sailed back from Europe; the tobacco plantation had blown up as well, burning a couple of nearby trees as well. Almost literally nothing was left of the Rogue's former base.

"Okay, I can't have done all that damage," I informed. Dad shook his head.

"I and some fellow workers decided to sabotage the supply lines and blame it on Dad," he corrected. My eyes widened. "We all hated him anyways, so we decided to teach him a lesson. We won't be hearing any more from Wade for a long while."

"I think this has been a long day," the other cowboy I now recognized as Buffalo Bill noted. "Let's saddle up and head on down, check up with the police."

"Okay," I agreed. Something hit me before I followed the two veteran cowboys. "Where's our ride?"

"Oh," Bill snapped his fingers. "We'll be taking the pickup."

"You have a pickup," Dad asked.

"Yup," Bill confirmed. "That's how I got here. I call her Tornado. I also have a horse and a motorcycle, and I'm thinking about a Lamborghini sometime in the future."

"Holy crap, Bill," I nearly shouted. "How do you make that much?"

"I'm a bull rider; how else?"

"That's a nice job, right there," Dad admitted.

"Hey," Grandad said, already on his horse. "You guys coming or what?"

* * *

Upon reaching the cable car station at the Forest floor, we were hoarded by swarms of reporters and other assorted media. One group of reporters came up to me and asked what happened.

"Let's just say that the Rogue Cowboy won't be giving us any more trouble," I replied.

"Who is the Rogue Cowboy," a reporter asked.

"That will remain between us cowboys."

"Now that the Rogue is behind bars," another questioned. "What will you and the other cowboys do?"

"I don't know," I admitted after a few moments of thought. "Don't quote me on this, though I guess we'll stay a few more days, get rid of the Rogue's associates, then head back West and better prepare ourselves for next time. We might stay indefinitely, we might not stay at all, I don't know. That's up to the other cowboys."

"Do you think the Goodie Bandit and the Rogue Cowboy were working together," one last one asked.

"I don't think so, I know so."

After a few more questions, I and Buffalo Bill worked our way to Dad and Grandad, who were being interrogated by the police.

"So you're not the Rogue," the police chief concluded.

"That's right," Dad nodded. "According to him, I was 'hired', though he'd actually forced me to join."

"Is he telling the truth," the grizzly demanded of Grandad.

"Well, I've still got to clear the story with the Atlanta police department, but—as far as I'm concerned—this is as close to the truth as I'll ever get for now."

"So he could be lying," he concluded.

"Quite possible," Grandad admitted. "Though it's also possible that the Rogue killed Benny and blamed it on James." He finally noticed me. "Hey, Austin. We were just finishing up here. Right, Ted?"

"Oh, um… yes," Ted stammered. He stood up and started walking to his car. "I'll catch up with you later, alright."

"That'd be good, yes. We'll be seeing you, Chief." The chief's car drove out of the clearing and down the road.

"So," I wondered aloud. "What's next?"

"I was thinking about staying," Dad mentioned. "Clean up the area and any damage I or the Cartel caused. Arrest any remaining Cartel leaders and/or members. Apologize for any and all damage done by the Cartel. That sort of thing."

"I might call in some more cowboys to help with cleanup," Grandad added. "Talk with the police, keep the media out of this. Besides, I think Nicky Flippers might want to have a chat with us about recent events."

"Sounds cool," I admitted. "This'll be a great campfire story back home."

* * *

(The next day)

We were all gathered at one of those open-air vendor things, minus Kirk for some reason. Granny reached for one of four muffins, burning her fingers upon contact with the bakery confection.

"Those are piping hot," she openly admitted.

"So," Wolf turned to Red. "How about that new delivery system?" Dad turned the page in his newspaper.

"Well," Red explained. "It beats riding a bike, that's for sure."

"What's the new delivery system again," I asked.

"Rail system," Dad described simply.

"Hey," Red interrupted Dad before he could go any further. "Did you guys hear about Kirk?"

"Who's Kirk," Dad asked.

"Some actor who got thrown by a rolling tree and helped save Red," Grandad explained.

"And what happened to him," Dad turned to Red.

"He finally made it," she continued, holding up a card for a yodeling concert thing.

"Yodeling," Dad questioned. "Humph. If that's what makes him happy, I'm sure he'll do great."

"Hey, want to go see the show with us," Red asked Wolf and Twitchy, Dad, Grandad, and I.

"No thanks," Wolf declined. "I'm allergic to yodeling."

"Excuses," Dad muttered.

"Hey, I never caught your name," Wolf mentioned to Dad.

"James Watson Blaiz," Dad introduced himself. "I'm Austin's father by blood."

"Oh, really," I heard Red say, causing me to turn my head to face her. "You finally found your dad?"

"Yeah," I chuckled. "It's a bit of a long story. I'll tell you later."

"Ah," a familiar voice found us. I turned to find that it was none other than the only investigative frog detective I've ever met.

"Mister Flippers," Red noticed him.

"I see you all got my message," he noted, some form of joy filling his voice. "Glad you could make it."

"What's going on," Granny and Grandad spoke simultaneously as Dad lowered his newspaper and set down his coffee.

"Well, I was wondering if you would like to come and work for me," he explained. "I could use some fresh talent like you."

"What kind of work are we talking about," Wolf asked.

"Yeah, mister… Flippers, is it," Dad nearly forgot the detective's name. "What could you need from us, you being a cop and all?"

"Well," Nicky went on to explain. "You'd be undercover on impossible missions to faraway places, fighting crime, making happy endings, and riding off into the sunset when the day is done." He handed a card to Red, who read the card as I tried to see over her shoulder. "There's a lot of stories out there that need a happy ending; I'm part of a secret organization that makes sure that happens."

"The… Happily Ever After Agency," Red read aloud from the card as I came over and sat next to Dad and Grandad.

"The woods don't go around by themselves," Nicky winked at us.

"Yeah," Twitchy spoke in his over-caffeinated speed. He said a bunch more stuff which I couldn't comprehend.

"So," the apparent secret agent asked us. "What do you think?" Granny looked back at Red and Wolf, who both nodded in affirmation.

"Bring it, honey," Granny affirmed his request. I grabbed a coffee mug and held it out between Grandad and Dad.

"All for one and one for all, right," I quoted from my favorite book. "Are we in this or what?" Dad just shrugged, grabbing his coffee mug.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," he thought aloud. "Besides, it'll help me get back at that darned Cartel."

"It's better than going around and asking for help, I guess," Grandad mentioned, grabbing his mug.

"We're in," Dad confirmed to Nicky; right after he said it, the three generations of Blaiz's took a swig from their coffee simultaneously, as if to say that we would be in it together and to the end.

"We're going to have a lot more stories to tell Gramma when we get home," I said out of the clear blue, giving comedic relief to everyone seated at the breakfast bar.

 **END**

* * *

 **That was certainly a full chapter. I may have to slice these chapters up a bit. Tell me in a review if you liked/disliked the story or chapter. If you're confused, let me know that as well. I need to know these sorts of things so I can improve myself as a writer. It would also help me get through college, what with me writing eBooks to help pay for it.**

 **I think I should take a small break, get back to writing those eBooks I have planned. I'll see you either in a couple of days or whenever I get to chapter three. Texas signing out.**


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